


Grey Buttercups

by Snowy10604



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soulmates, the lightest hint of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-22 22:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy10604/pseuds/Snowy10604
Summary: What kind of man has a soulmate with yellow eyes. What horrors could destiny have in store for him? What monster could fate have tethered him to?It didn’t bear thinking about. He took countless lovers, pretending, for an evening or a month, that he hadn’t been cursed by destiny.The peace they brought never lasted. They always left, eventually.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 757





	Grey Buttercups

**Author's Note:**

> hi yall
> 
> this is highkey the first fic i worked up the nerve to actually post and i wrote it in a cold medicine induced haze so i cant promise any of it is actually 'good' but i'm happy with how it turned out lol 
> 
> fyi i have only watched the show so please forgive any inconsistencies :)
> 
> based on a writing prompt I saw somewhere that was being blind to the color of your soulmates eyes until you look into them
> 
> beta'd by the lovely toodleboog

Jaskier couldn’t see yellow. 

He tried not to let it bother him, but seeing only a splattering of grey when he looked out over a field of wildflowers left him feeling a special kind of sadness. Sunsets did the same thing, the painting of vibrant purples and oranges leading into a color he’d never know. 

He couldn’t tell gold from silver. It all looked shiny and white-grey.

Typically, people were born blind to green or blue or brown. In rare cases they were blind to two. The color they couldn’t see indicated the color of their soulmate’s eyes, and this was what terrified him. 

What kind of man has a soulmate with yellow eyes. What horrors could destiny have in store for him? What monster could fate have tethered him to?

It didn’t bear thinking about. He took countless lovers, pretending, for an evening or a month, that he hadn’t been cursed by destiny. 

The peace they brought never lasted. They always left, eventually. 

-

He had learned of his curse when he was very young.

He had gone to a market with his mother. They had been browsing the wares when she spotted an old woman selling fine porcelain tea sets. They were finely crafted and masterfully painted with colorful plants and animals. They had both been enchanted by them. His mother was able to narrow her choice down and asked him to choose. One had been pale pink with roses, the other white with oak branches and bluebirds. 

“I like the white one,” he said, and his mother had looked at him strangely. 

“My dear,” she started, kneeling down to meet his eye level. “It’s not white.” He had laughed, surely she was joking. Her eyes had softened, but she didn’t return his laugh. “It’s yellow, Julian.”

“Yellow…?” His mind had worked this over, his confusion not abating. 

“The color of buttercups and sunsets, my dear,” she searched his eyes. He had looked away, feeling oddly guilty. 

She smiled softly and slid a ring off of her finger and pressed it into his hand.

“What is this ring made of?” She had asked. It was silver. 

“Silver.” She had lightly shaken her head at his reply, but made no move to reclaim the ring. 

“No, my dear.” A strange look passed her face. “Pay attention if ever changes.”

-

Jaskier fiddled with the silver ring on his finger. He had been traveling with Geralt for a few months, and the man had been odd. The main thing was that he had never met his eyes. Not once.

He always averted his gaze, deigning to look over his shoulder or somewhere not even in his vicinity.

At first, Jaskier chalked it up to Geralt refusing to acknowledge having a soulmate, something to do with his being a witcher. It made sense. Sort of. Witchers didn’t love. No point in having to meet with a soulmate that he didn’t- couldn’t want. 

Or maybe he didn’t have a soulmate. Maybe there was a super-secret witcher thing that had severed his bond to them. 

Jaskier found himself concerned by how appealing that sounded to him.

Either way, the theory didn’t hold up.

Destiny didn’t play like that.

-

They had been traveling around the curve of a rather large lake. The sky was cloudless and vibrant, leaving the sun free to shine down upon the gently choppy cobalt surface of the water. It looked like diamonds had been spilled across it. A breeze trailed up from the lake, bringing with it the slightly fishy, wet-sand smell of the waterfront.

Jaskier had gasped delightedly upon glimpsing the lake, and in his haste grabbed Geralt’s arm and pointed to it. Geralt, luckily, had been in a good mood that day and not cuffed him. Instead, he looked where Jaskier pointed, his face unreadable.

“Hmm.”

“It’s grey.” He had said simply and shrugged out of Jaskier’s grip. The bard had stood there dumbfounded. Geralt continued walking alongside Roach. It was not grey. Then it dawned on him, the shock of it almost making him stumble. 

“You can’t see blue.” Jaskier had murmured. Geralt had a soulmate. 

A blue-eyed soulmate. Jaskier couldn't stop himself from considering, even if just for a moment. It made him oddly giddy. 

“You can’t see blue!” He dashed to catch up to Geralt. The witcher had glanced down at him, the faintest hint of amusement playing on his face. He had hmmed good-naturedly and they continued on their way around the lake.

-

It had been a long week. Wide, rolling meadows with nothing to see. So Jaskier didn’t bother looking. He kept his eyes to the road, busying himself with his lute. 

He had written multiple songs about how bored he was. 

At first, Geralt had not been pleased, but as the days on the road wore on both of them, and Jaskier began to slip out of the words he deemed suitable for use in his ballads in exchange for extraneous cursing and tales he didn’t feel fit for public consumption, Geralt had stopped threatening to break his lute or kill him or some gruesome combination of the two.

At one point he had even chuckled. Sort of. 

Truthfully, it had been a grunt that sounded suspiciously like a sound of amusement, but Jaskier would take what he could get. 

The day pressed on. Jaskier was focused on his song to the point that he didn't notice when Roach slowed. Or stopped. He nearly ran into her.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said firmly, his voice lacking its usual bite.

“Hmm…? What, Geralt-” he cut himself off, halting just inches from Roach. No reply came. Jaskier looked up at him. Geralt was staring out into the meadows around them. Jaskier turned and his breath caught in his throat. The field was vibrant with thousands of flowers. 

All of them grey. 

He felt his face fall and quickly corrected his expression. Yellow eyes. 

Jaskier swallowed, trying to clear a sudden bitterness in his mouth. His cheeks were burning. He looked away from the field. The flowers were a reminder of how destiny had bound him. He felt uneasy and embarrassed.

“You’re afraid.” Geralt said suddenly, shaking him from his thoughts. He hadn’t been as subtle as he thought. He tried to gather his words, unable to bring himself to look up at Geralt.

“I.. ah...” he paused, trying to steady his breathing. “It’s… it feels bad here.” He lied, trying to hide his shame. It was a dumb excuse.

Geralt hummed pensively in reply. 

“Let’s… keep moving.” Jaskier muttered, rubbing his neck. Geralt hummed again, as if deep in thought. Roach resumed her steady pace. They fell into silence for a few minutes before Jaskier spoke.

“Look, Geralt, I didn’t mean to… back there… I’m sorry about that. I-” 

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Jaskier made a soft sound of uncertainty and stared at the road with red cheeks.

They walked the rest of the day in silence.

The sun began to set, in its red, orange, and purple hues, all streaked with grey. Geralt stopped to make camp near a small copse of trees. Before long, Geralt had a fire blazing, a few rabbits he had caught roasting over it. The chirp of crickets filled the air. The pair sat on either end of a down tree.

Jaskier found himself fiddling with his ring. 

“Geralt.” He said suddenly, not giving himself time to think better of it. Maybe Geralt could help with his predicament. He knew all sorts of monsters, so maybe he could shed some light on the creature Jaskier was bound to.

“Hmm.” Was the reply, eloquent as ever as Geralt looked up from the fire.

“What… what kind of metal is this ring made of?” Jaskier slid the band off his finger and held it out to Geralt. 

The witcher took it curiously, and Jaskier tried not to zero in on the fleeting touch of his hand. He had to focus.

“Gold.” Geralt replied without hesitation. Jaskier shook his head, smiling almost defeatedly. Suddenly, he could think of nothing but the white tea set. Geralt gave him an inquisitive look.

“Not to me. It looks like silver.” Jaskier took the ring back and put it on. He could feel Geralt looking at him. 

“Jaskier, what are you…” Geralt trailed off, watching him with equal parts curiosity and suspicion.

“When you stopped earlier. I lied to you.” If he didn’t have Geralt’s attention before, he certainly did now. 

“I had said that it had felt bad there. That… wasn’t why I wanted to leave. It was because I… couldn’t see the flowers. They were all grey.” Geralt fixed him with a stare, taking a moment to put the pieces together. 

“You do understand…?” Geralt looked at him blankly, clearly not understanding. Jaskier sighed quietly through his nose.

“Yellow eyes, Geralt. My soulmate has yellow eyes and I...” He said softly, turning his gaze to the fire.

“You’re scared.” Geralt’s voice was heavy with realization. 

“Yes, I’m scared. I’m… terrified beyond thought.” He stared into the flames, watching them lick up the logs and consume them, turning them slowly into ash the same color as the flowers. “Terrified that whoever, or whatever, I have been bound to will want to do me harm. That I won’t be able to escape it. That it’ll end up killing me. And maybe.. you can...”

“Jaskier-”

“Maybe you can help me figure it out. So I don’t… feel so scared.” 

“Jaskier, look at me.” He didn’t. He stared into the fire. Geralt made a frustrated sound and slid towards him. Jaskier looked up, a trace of panic on his face.

“Geralt, what’re you-” he tilted Jaskier’s face up with an amount of gentleness that made the bard’s breath falter. 

“Look at me. Please.” And this time he did. 

Geralt’s eyes were yellow. 

It was the most beautiful color he had ever seen. 

It was… unearthly. They were golden. They were the color of sunsets and buttercups. The color of the sun. Warm and glowing and electrifying, almost like molten metal. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Blue like the sky.” Geralt’s voice was filled with longing like he had never heard, even if just above a whisper. 

“Geralt,” he murmured, awestruck. His eyes pricked with tears and he hastily wiped them away, not wanting to look away for an instant. Something in his chest twisted.

He had never felt like this before. Never seen something or someone that made him feel like this. It was an all-consuming love and for once, he wasn’t scared anymore.

Geralt glanced away, something like guilt crossing his features. His hand fell from Jaskier’s face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” a small part of Jaskier’s heart broke at the tone of his voice. He cupped Geralt’s cheek. He needed to see the hurt leave his witcher’s lovely eyes.

“Geralt… you’re beautiful.” Was all he could say. He couldn’t think. All of the fear he had ever felt was washed away. 

Geralt met his eyes again and he could’ve cried. There was nothing he would rather see. Tentative hope. 

“Beautiful, my dear.” 

“I would never hurt you, Jaskier. Fuck, I… .” Geralt leaned into the warmth of his hand, jaw working as he tried to think of something coherent to say. Jaskier scooted forward and rested his forehead against Geralt’s. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He breathed, hand now tracing Geralt’s shoulder. A beat passed in comfortable quiet, crickets chirping over the roar of the fire.

“I had never thought I could be missing so much…” Geralt murmured. Jaskier laughed softly.

“Neither had I.” A smile settled on his face. “I can’t imagine… ” He made no attempt with words.

Geralt smiled softly at it. The tentative quirk of his lips was the purest thing Jaskier had ever seen. He never wanted to forget how it looked. The firelight licked over them both, casting gentle orange shadows across their faces. Jaskier hadn’t seen anything prettier. 

“I think I want to kiss you…” he breathed, not quick enough to stop the words from escaping his mouth. He went pink, expecting Geralt to pull away. Instead, Geralt smiled more, looking so terribly fond of him. 

“Then kiss me.” 

He did.

He didn’t expect Geralt’s lips to be so soft, if chapped. But they were. 

It was chaste at first. Jaskier slid a hand into Geralt’s hair, fingers carding through the soft white to rest against the back of his head. 

He couldn’t fight the desperation he felt. Gods, he didn’t want to. He deepened the kiss and Geralt growled softly into his mouth. Jaskier shivered into the touch. It was divine. 

Jaskier had kissed many people and it had never been like this. It had been in lust or infatuation or just purely situation. And it had never felt so good, so electric. So right.

He couldn’t think. He didn’t care. All that mattered in this moment was him and Geralt. The man’s hands had bunched in the fabric of his doublet. The touch, even through the fabric, felt like sparks. Jaskier was hot, jittery, and very much in love, and Geralt was feeding into all of those things.

Eventually, they broke apart, panting. Jaskier was sure he had never blushed so hard in his life, and Geralt was rosy around the edges. A small part of him took immense pride in this. He had made a witcher blush. It was something he would never let Geralt live down.

He traced the edges of Geralt’s lips with a tentative finger, wanting to memorize everything about him. He looked so peaceful like this. Jaskier would do anything to protect this side of him. The caring, soft side that so few saw. 

Then he noticed it. Glinting in the firelight. The damnable ring.

It was gold.


End file.
